


Lost and Found

by DreamCloudHalo



Category: The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: (even though that’s kinda a spoiler but oh well), Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - The Great Gatsby Fusion, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depictions of Death, Depression, Extreme Nightmares, Fix-It, Fluff, Gatsby’s funeral, Gay Nick Carraway, Jay Gatsby Lives, Jay Gatsby’s Butler, M/M, Nightmares, One Shot, Screw the Buchanan’s, bisexual jay gatsby, gun - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:41:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23566246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamCloudHalo/pseuds/DreamCloudHalo
Summary: After Gatsby’s death, Nick found himself descending into a world of depression and alcoholism. He was lost in an unknown city, full of toxic people. New money, old money...it’s all the same, isn’t it?It’s a good thing that the ever seeing eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg have a lot more in store.(Short story about how I wish the Great Gatsby should have ended :3)
Relationships: Nick Carraway/Jay Gatsby
Comments: 9
Kudos: 74





	1. Madness

Following Gatsby’s death, I found myself a broken man. Whatever hope and excitement that had brought me to New York had shattered into a million pieces before my very eyes, the same way Gatsby’s soul had been shattered by the bullet piercing his body. A great plume of blood filled the pool, slowly turning it red. It still gives me nightmares in the depths of the night. 

I hadn’t gone to work that day. I just had this inexplicable feeling that something horrible was going to happen...so after arriving at my driveway, I decided that I would return to the Gatsby manor. Screw my boss. Screw the bloody bond business. This was my friend. My BEST friend. My...crush? I suppose so. 

With that, I grabbed my coat and walked back, already thinking of an excuse as to why I would stay with Gatsby. 

Unfortunately, I was too late. I’ll never be able to come to terms with the fact that if I hadn’t left, perhaps my only friend in this crushing world wouldn’t have died. I heard the gunshot, and ran up the steps just in time to see Wilson shooting himself in the head. I didn’t even see Gatsby’s body as it fell. Only the great haze of blood slowly growing and spreading, like a wildfire in a dry forest. 

I don’t know what came over me. I dove into the pool, my military instincts kicking in. My arms wrapped around Jay’s bloody torso and my legs kicked off from the bottom with such might that we catapulted upwards. Pushing myself out of the pool with one hand, I pulled Gatsby onto the side with the other, before putting both my hands onto his chest and pumping, in a desperate need to somehow resurrect the man from the dead. He coughed, a mixture of blood and water cascading from his mouth. His eyes fluttered open for a second. They were unseeing, clouded with the coming of death. I only heard him utter my name, before falling down, down, down, towards the light that took him with open arms. I grasped at his cold hand, my other hand laying on his chest in an attempt to stop the bleeding, to rejuvenate the pulse that was weakening under my grip. It was all for nothing, and I knew it. 

Firm hands clenched at my shoulders and tried to pull me away. I yelled my protests, screaming that I wanted to stay with him.  
“No, no...no you can’t! Let me stay, let me stay...Gatsby...Gatsby!”  
“Mr Carraway, I implore you, you must leave...”  
“Gatsby...GATSBY....LET ME GO!!”  
I pushed wildly at the butler but his strength easily overpowered my shaking body. I felt like strained glass, ready to snap.

The servant dragged me away from his body as two more came rushing out of the house, enveloping Gatsby from my eyes. I felt a sharp prick at my neck, and the world turned lopsided as my unconscious self came to the slow realisation that I’d been drugged. My last thoughts were of Gatsby, and the muddy haze of ruby slowly overcoming the cool sapphire of the pool. 

I woke up at home the following morning, with two notes left on my bedside table. One was from Jordan, telling me that the Buchanans had ran. She had invited me round for tea at her place the following Tuesday, but I had no intention of going.  
The second note was from Gatsby’s butler, apologising for drugging me, but explaining that they had to get me away for my own mental state. I was going into shock, apparently. What happened after reading those notes, I don’t remember. I let the claws of a restless sleep drag me under once again. 

~

The following days consisted of me drinking myself to ruin. I didn’t go back to work, and they later fired me. I couldn’t care less. I just drank, letting reality slowly die around me in a miasma of fear and pain. Any time I felt, any time an emotion surfaced, I drank it away with a large swig of vodka, my own secret supply. 

The tragedy played over and over agin in my mind, each time becoming more dreadful and frightening than the last. The first time it happened, I saw the event as it was. The gunshot, the splash, the red plume. The second gunshot. A world of water, a breath of fresh air. Gatsby saying my name. Death.  
After that, it only got worse. The gunshot became louder, encasing any other earthly noises into mechanical cries that screamed of the victims demise. Instead of Wilson shooting himself in the head, I only saw a cloaked figure with a gun pointed at the red pool, laughing maniacally. When I dove into the pool to rescue my friend, his cold hands grasped at my neck. The bottom of the pool seemed to disappear and we travelled down into the depths of an ocean. A watery grave. No more would Gatsby say my name, but would accuse me, as if I was the perpetrator of the crime.  
_“You could have saved me. You could have saved me. This is your fault.”_  
“No!”  
I screamed, writhing wildly. The look Gatsby gave me was the same as the one he gave Tom in that apartment, on that sweltering hot day. My vision went blurry as the water entered my lungs. 

It’s was always at that moment that I’d wake up, just in the brink of death. My face would be clammy and my hands gripped around an empty glass. That’s how it always was. It still is like that. And I imagine I’ll have these nightmares for the rest of my short existence. 

~

Autumn is truly upon us now. Or...I think it is anyway. I don’t remember the transition from Summer to autumn, the slow turn of the leaves in the trees. I just remember returning to reality after days of alcohol and noticing the orange limelight peering through my curtains as the sun alighted upon the burnt colours of the trees. In any other circumstance, I’d be mesmerised by the beauty and serenity of the scene. But all I could think about was Gatsby, the end of his reign as the Great Summer King; the trees were mourning the loss of the sunshine he brought, and were dying alongside me. Autumn truly marked the end of summer, but in this instance, it marked the end of those lavish parties, the green light, the grand mansion of wonders, and my friend; a noble man, who’s love transpired five years of loneliness, only to be shut down in his prime.

Gatsby’s funeral was to be held soon, in a small alcove of his house. I wanted to go desperately, perhaps I could find some sort of closure. I sincerely doubt it...but it might help.  
I pushed myself out of bed and sauntered towards the mirror. My reflection, I admit, startled me. I looked like an emotional wreck after the week I’d experienced. I suppose nothing could make me feel better at this rate.  
_‘I shouldn’t go to this funeral...what if Jordan’s there? I don’t know if I can even face her...’_  
Defeated, I looked over at my bed. Empty bottles were littered around it. My hands clenched in anger. I’ve given in to the clutches of alcoholism already. Why not just give in, and go to this stupid funeral? 

My body flinched at the word stupid. It wouldn’t be stupid. This is Gatsby. I have to go, it’s my duty as his friend. Who else is going to organise it? Who else is going to go...? 

Hitting my head against the mirror in turmoil, I decided to go, and picked up my razor, in an attempt to fix the mess my body had become.

~

I knew I should never have come to this funeral. It’s completely desolate. No on, except Owl Eyes, has had the decency to show up, and even he only stayed for a while, before leaving me by myself. Not even Jordan has come to pay her respects. I’m completely alone. 

It’s a closed casket, for some reason. I don’t understand, but I suppose I’m just disappointed if anything. I’d wanted to see Gatsby’s face...to touch his cheek. To say goodbye properly. And now I’m not even granted that luxury. It’s not fair. My hands are already trembling in anguish. My throat is parched in desperation for a drink to quench my fear. I’m always scared nowadays. There was no reason to be scared around Gatsby. He was a comforting presence in the vile land of New York.

I stroked the wooden casket lovingly and stood up, wanting to leave.  
“I’m sorry, Jay. I wish I could have done more...”  
I mumbled, feeling a tear trickle down my cheek. I could feels weeks of unshed tears brimming in my eyes and months of words not said on my lips. I sobbed.  
“I don’t sleep anymore, you know. Just as well...guess it’s karma for letting you die...”  
I chuckled to myself, before choking on my sob and falling silent. At this point I was just having a conversation with him, as if he’d never died. As if, any moment now, he’d tell me why he had to die.  


“It’s difficult, you know? You were my friend...my _only_ friend...”

“You’re my only friend as well, Old sport.”

A voice from behind me said. My breath hitched in my throat and I spun around to see Gatsby looking at me. My head catapulted. I felt incredibly sick. 

“This isn’t...you’re not...”  
My eyes bulged at the sight of him. Gatsby, as bright as day, was staring at me, a concerned look growing on his face. 

I felt a wave of hysteria wash over me, and began to chuckle.  
“Hah....hahaha....”  
I put one hand on my face and held my head, whilst my other arm clutched my stomach. A great laugh bellowed from inside me and I laughed and laughed and laughed until it hurt.  
“I’ve done it...”  
I said, gasping my words out in desperate breaths.  
_“I’ve actually gone mad!”_  
My knees gave way underneath and I saw the spectre move towards me, as if to try and catch me. My laughter turned into ragged sobs as tears cascaded from my eyes.  
“I’ve gone mad...I’m imagining you now...”  
Gatsby knelt down next to me and stretched out a hand to comfort me.  


“Nick? You’re scaring me. Pull yourself together-“  
“Leave me alone!”  
I yelled, pushing away from him across the floor.

“Why can’t you leave me alone?! You mock me in my dreams...you mock when I’m awake! And now you’re here....”  
My body trembled like a fallen leaf, stray from the tree. I wanted this vision to desperately be real. I wanted my alcohol tainted mind to cleanse so I could stop going mad with grief. That’s all this spectre was. A ghost of grief, a memory of time’s past. A glimmer of hope being dangled before my eyes, only to be snatched away when I reached towards it. I wanted to reach my hand towards this ghost now, like Gatsby did that first night on the dock, stretching towards the green light. The unattainable goal.  
“I’m sorry...I’m sorry I let you die...” I found myself gasping again, trying to take gulps of air to combat the mirage in front of me.

The vision crawled over to me, and reached his hand towards mine.  
“Take it, Nick. Take my hand.”  
I looked at it through blurry, tear-stricken eyes, and then stretched out my own, trembling hand. 

I took his hand. It was so warm...so reassuring. Unreal, yet real. Impossible. 

Gatsby was _alive._

I gripped his hand tightly, and pulled him close to me to touch his shoulder. It was firm, and the clothes were soft. My breaths became faster if that was possible, and my body paralysed. Weeks of lack of sleep seemed to catch up with me, and I collapsed, down, down into the darkness.

~

I had the nightmare again. It’s gotten even worse now. This time...this time I watched Gatsby die. Any other time I’ve experienced this vision, I’ve always been too late to see the murder. But this time, as if my mind was trying to torture me...I saw him die. 

Gatsby never saw it coming. He was getting out of the pool, climbing up the ladder. The bullet pierced his chest and his face drained immediately of all life. Blood splurged out of the gaping hole and he tumbled backwards. I tried to move towards him, but I was frozen in place, watching the horror scene. 

Instead of using the last bullet on himself though, Wilson turned to me, grinning manically.  
“You knew he killed her...I’ll kill you too...”  
He giggled, and I screamed in pain as the bullet went shooting towards my head.  
“Please, NO! GATSBY!”  
I yelled desperately, and I felt a searing pain in my head as the bullet entered. My shoulders shook, and I heard my name being called by death himself.

“N....Nic.....NICK!”

My eyes flew upon and I saw Gatsby looking at me, fear painted on his face as plain as day. “I’m here...it’s not real, whatever you saw. It’s just a nightmare...” He put a warm hand on my clammy forehead and wiped away the sweat. I felt soft cushions under my arms and propped myself up. It was so calm, peaceful. Just like how things always were with Jay Gatsby.  
“Is this another dream...? Because if it is, I want to wake up.”

I said, feeling another tear roll down my face. I prayed that this wasn’t just a sick joke someone was playing on me. Gatsby wiped the tear away gently with his thumb and took my hand in his.  
“It’s not a dream. It’s real. I’m alive, Old sport.”  
He smiled gently for my own well-being and I felt floods of relief wave over my body. I almost stopped breathing. Breathing was irrelevant compared to the joy i felt at Gatsby being alive. He surged forwards at this point, as if to expel any doubts in my mind, and hugged me tightly, keeping me close to his breast. My head rested against his chest and I heard the steady heartbeat of his main organ in his body, each beat expelling shouts of life. 

“It’s all thanks to you, you know.”  
He mumbled quietly, as my hands grasped at his clothes, so he wouldn’t let go.  
“No its not...I let you die...”  
He pulled away at that moment (much to my dismay) and placed his hands on my shoulders.  
“You didn’t. You saved my life. I owe you everything, Nick.”  
His mouth saying my name sounded almost foreign. I was so used to the affectionate nickname ‘Old sport’....but I much preferred this.  
“I don’t understand...”

I mumbled, trying to grasp at the concept. He stood from the chair he was sitting in and sat next to me.  
“Let me help you understand.”


	2. An Explanation

I heard the gunshot before I felt it. That loud bang that promises a world of pain that follows. My body felt like lead as I lost all feeling inside of me, and I lurched backwards, into the cool waters of the pool. 

They say, that when you’re close to death, you see your life flash before your eyes. It happened then, for me. I saw my parents smiling down at me, James Gatz, in my youth. They were happy to have a son, but I could see the sadness in their eyes as they knew they couldn’t provide much for me. My life scrolled past like a tape. I saw my time on the farm, growing up and watching the sun rise and set every day. I saw my life on the boat with Dan Cody. He taught me to be a gentleman. Each splash of the waters seemed muffled though, until I heard a real splash, as loud as thunder in my ears, and warm hands taking my body upwards.

I dismissed this, thinking it part of this strange dream I was experiencing.  
My life fast-forwarded, and I saw myself arriving in America. I saw the war, and the deaths of many friends. I could see Oxford, and...Daisy. Oh, beautiful Daisy...with her newly married husband, Tom Buchanan. 

And then...I saw him. I saw Nick Carraway. The day Nick Carraway entered my life...I want to take this memory with me to wherever I go when I die. So happy, he was...so joyful. Untainted by the evil in this world. Unscathed. I’ll never forgive myself for using him to get to his cousin. It’s my greatest sin...I never wanted to hurt Nick. My Nick...

“Nick...”  
I said his name then, feeling my mouth work momentarily. I opened my eyes. Hazy lights sparkled above me and flashed. I felt a strong grip on my hand as my feelings began to come back to me...there was a searing pain in my chest, but i ignored it. I wanted Nick. 

I was about to clutch back at the hand that held mine when I felt it get torn away by some unknown force. I heard my name being called desperately.

“No, no...no you can’t! Let me stay, let me stay...Gatsby...Gatsby!”  
I wondered who it was that was calling for me. They must have been the person who held my hand only moments ago.  
“Mr Carraway, I implore you, you must leave...”  
Carraway? Nick! My body surged as I realised it was Nick who was calling for me. My eyes flew open. It took all my strength, but I looked around for him desperately.  
“Gatsby...GATSBY....LET ME GO!!”  
I wanted to call out to him, to tell him it was going to be okay. But my body was heavy. It felt like my blood had been turned to lead. And then, the darkness took me. 

~

When I next woke up I was in a hospital bed. It was eerily quiet in the room. My chest was bare and ugly stitches covered it. I winced after an attempt to sit up, and decided to simply just sit and wallow in my thoughts. 

The days passed in a blur. Doctors came in and out, giving me sedatives and, occasionally, food. I wanted to ask where I was, what I was doing here, but each time I found my mouth didn’t want to work. Meyer Wolfsheim turned up, however, two days before I was discharged. He said he’s kept me hidden from the eyes of society. Everyone believed I was dead. The police in other states were catching on to our bootlegging business and so he made it so that I would disappear. 

“Although,  
He took great pleasure in telling me,  
“You were very much on the brink of death.”  
I found my mouth was willing to cooperate with me today and I asked the first question that had been hanging in my lips for the past few weeks.  
“What happened?”  
He leaned back in his chair.  
“I got the information from your butler. He said he heard a gunshot, and went outside to investigate. He was just at the door when he heard a very loud splash as a young man dragged you out of the pool and administered CPR.”

Gatsby felt his heart leap in his chest. It must have been Nick. It must have been.  
Meyer seemed to be enjoying his little tale.  
“The butler said it was extraordinary. He’d never seen such strength. If Mr Carraway hadn’t pulled you out, they don’t think you would have survived.”  
He looked down at Gatsby’s chest.  
“Then again, if the bullet was half a millimetre upwards, it would have pierced your heart and you would have died anyway.” 

I wasn’t listening to the rest. Nick had come for me. He’d rescued me. I owed him my life...  
I was so lost in thought that I didn’t even realise that Meyer had left until the ward went silent once more. I was fed up of silence. I wanted to hear voices. Specifically, Nicks voice. 

On the final day of being trapped in the hospital, I was visited by Jordan. Meyer must have told her where I was, because she looked very relieved to see that I was alive.  
“My god, Gatsby, I don’t believe it...”  
She took my hand in a gloved hand of hers and gripped it tightly. She kissed my cheek and sat down in the chair next to me.  
“Are you alright?”  
She asked tenderly, looking down at my bare chest. I nodded solemnly, and sat up, now that I was able to move pretty easily.  
“Yes, thank you...”  
I’d hardly finished my sentence when she began gushing about everything that had happened. The police had found Daisy guilty of manslaughter, however they couldn’t arrest her because her family had fled their house. I felt forlorn at this, but decided that perhaps it was good that Daisy had left my life. I couldn’t have that toxicity poisoning my veins any longer. Besides, it wasn’t her that I cared about.  
“What about Nick? Is he alright?”  
I asked. My heart sunk as Jordan’s face dropped.  
“I....I’m not going to lie to you, Jay.”  
She mumbled, playing around with a thread on her dress and avoiding eye contact with me.  
“He’s bad. Really, really bad. I’ve never seen him this depressed. Not even that time in the apartment, the night...the night Daisy hit that woman.”  
My body lurched as I thought about Nick. Of course...the reason he hadn’t visited. He thinks I’m dead.  
“I visited him one day. I don’t think he knows about it. But I entered his house through the back door and heard strange noise upstairs.”  
Jordan glanced up to look at me in anguish. I saw tears brimming in her eyes, which shocked me to my very core. Jordan was...crying?  
“He was asleep on his bed upstairs. His face and hair was a mess. He was asleep, b-but sobbing...”  
Jordan took my hand in hers, and I squeezed it in support.  
“Oh Jay...all he said was _‘I’m sorry.’_ Over and over and over again...I was so emotional I left. I wish I hadn’t...I should have stayed with him. I should never have left him alone, I never should have.”  
“It’s alright, Jordan...I’m sure he would have appreciated you going...”  
I told her assuredly, but I could already feel the tears in my eyes. 

Luckily, Jordan said her goodbyes after that, leaving me alone to my thoughts. I couldn’t believe what my death was doing to Nicks well-being. I wanted to let him know that I was alive, but it was very difficult in my current state. 

So, I organised an event I knew he would go to. My funeral. 

When I left the hospital I returned to my mansion, secretly, and began preparations immediately. I stayed inside the entire time; the public believed I was dead, and it must remain that way. I had my butler said a note to Nicks place, telling him about the funeral, and just prayed that he would come. 

~

“So...that’s everything, old sport.”  
Gatsby told me softly, turning to look me in the eyes. I’d remained silent the entire time, listening to his story. I began to open my mouth, wanting to say something, but no words followed. I didn’t quite know what to say. So we both sat in silence, looking at each other. 

I, eventually, spoke first.  
“I’m sorry about Daisy, Gatsby, I wish-“  
“Jay.”  
He cut me off mid-sentence.  
“Sorry..?”  
“I’d...like you to call me Jay. If that’s alright. One of the only things I remember the day I was shot-“  
He grimaced at the thought, and I shuddered as a chill went down my spine. Even the Gatsby was alive, that day was sure to haunt me for the rest of my life.  
“-was you, calling ‘Gatsby.’ It was incredibly sentimental, of course...”  
He quickly added, watching as my ears turned pink in embarrassment,  
“...but I realised in the hospital that I much prefer it if you’d call me Jay.” 

He smiled happily at me, and for the first time in weeks, I gave him a broken smile in return.  
“Then...you can call me Nick, I suppose. I...I like it a lot when you call me Nick...”  
My face and ears flushed red and I turned away, hoping my embarrassment didn’t show. A laugh from behind me told me it did.  
“Alright then, Nick.”  
“Okay, Jay...”  
He stared at each other for a minute, before Gatsby broke the silence.  
“And...about Daisy...”  
He looked out the grand window that faced the bed, where the green light used to shine ever so brightly, calling out to him.  
“I...had a small realisation in the hospital. I realised, that if she cared enough about me, then she never would have married Tom in the first place. I’ve spent my whole life convincing myself that if I had enough money she’d come with me, but...I realise now that money doesn’t bring love.”

He looked back at me.  
“As much as the funeral was a way to get you here...it was also a test. To see if Daisy would come. Because if she really loved me, she would have come back from wherever she’s hiding with Tom to say goodbye.”

Gatsby stood, taking my hand and pulling us both towards the window where the sun was beginning to set over the auburn land, casting beautiful shades of pink and orange.  
“And yet, the only person who came to my funeral...was _you.”_  
I felt my ears redden in embarrassment once more.  
“Of course I did...you’re...you’re my...”  
I stammered, trying to find the right words to explain to Gatsby how I felt. Luckily, I didn’t have to. 

He leaned in, brushing his lips against mine, before pushing gently and kissing me. Finally, all the pent up tension in my body was released, and I sighed into the kiss. Gatsby took my waist and pulled me close as I kissed back, putting my arms around his shoulders. This moment...this wonderful moment, made all the nightmares and alcoholism, anger and pain and frustration...it was all worth it, just for ten seconds in heaven with the man I loved. 

Gatsby ended the kiss, but kept me close to his body.  
“Nick Carraway, I love you because you love me for me. Not for my status, or my money. When I ‘died’, all that disappeared...and yet you still came to say goodbye. You have always been amazing, even when I was chasing after another person...the wrong person...”

He frowned, and I shook my head.  
“I just...wanted you to be happy...”  
I mumbled, and he smiled so wide before kissing me once more. I didn’t object in the slightest. I was home, home in his arms. I was alone, and now I won’t ever be alone again. I was lost...and now I’m found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking of perhaps writing an epilogue, showing life after all of what’s just happened. But I don’t know if I should just leave the story how it is or not.
> 
> Tell me if you want an epilogue and I’ll write it.


	3. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Epilogue, because I desperately wanted to write one, and I think this story needs more fluff to counter the amount of angst in it :3

I woke up with a start, the morning it happened. The sun shone through the lilac curtains gently, as if trying its best not to wake us this fine morn. I wish I could have enjoyed it more - and perhaps I would have done, had I not just experienced that horrible dream once again. 

Admittedly, the nightmares were a lot less terrifying. I see the event as it was; no tricks, no exaggerated visions, smoke nor mirrors...and yet, the thought that Gatsby had come so close to leaving my life forever...the memory of the empty hell I was left in without the Summer King’s presence...the slow death as alcohol poisoned my body and mind to the point of wishing for the sweet release of death...

That was enough to terrify me for the rest of my life. 

The duvet rustled a little as Jay sat up next to me. He was a light sleeper, I’d come to learn, and was always ready to comfort me after another horrible night. I didn’t even need to tell him; he had a sixth sense for knowing when I was troubled, and I secretly loved it. It was just one of the many pieces that made up Gatsby. My Gatsby. Past, present, and foreseeable future. 

“Another bad dream, doll?”  
He asked me sleepily, brushing his lips against my cheek. I nodded, silence feeling the air between us. I needn’t say anything, however. Jay graced me with his beautiful oceanic eyes and turned my cheek with a gentle hand so I faced him, before kissing me tenderly on the lips. 

I smiled, breathing into it, and then he pulled away, waving his hand above my head in circular movements.   
“Nightmare, nightmare...go away.”  
He grinned like a child and pecked my cheek.  
“There. Gone.”  
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes as I got out the bed to change.   
“I don’t think that’s how it works, babe.”  
I chuckled as I pulled a shirt on. Jay flopped down onto the bed of clouds again.   
“Course it does! You feel happy, don’t you?”  
I changed into a cream shirt and dress trousers.  
“I feel happy because I woke up next to you.”  
I told him teasingly, and revelled in the light blush that graced his face. A small grin creeped onto mine as I turned away from the bed to pick some shoes out. 

Gatsby and I had been living in Canada for almost four years now. Four years of pure, blissful happiness. Four years of untainted, unsullied, pristine contentment. Almost a week after Gatsby and I confessed our love for each other, we decided to leave Long Island and all the pain that it clutched. No more Daisy. No more Tom. Away from the sickly parties and the god-forsaken green light. Forget New money, Old money. It’s in the past. 

Gatsby paid off the police, ended his dealings with Wolfsheim, and moved his money to a secure Swiss bank. He had enough money to last four lifetimes, so neither of us worried about bills or taxes, and we moved to a place out in the countryside, where we could be ourselves with no repercussions. I had a job as a newspaper editor, which kept me happy, (despite Jay telling me multiple times that I didn’t have to work) and I came home every night to a wonderful, loving boyfriend. 

A shuffle of feet from behind told me that my wonderful, loving boyfriend had dragged himself from the bed to join me. I turned around to see him picking a tie out for me, and smiled as he proceeded to wrap it around my neck.   
“Don’t stay late tonight, okay? I’m gonna make dinner.”  
I raised an eyebrow. As much as I appreciated Jay’s help around the house, he wasn’t the best cook. He pulled the knot on my tie and rolled his eyes.  
“I know what you’re thinking, but it’s our anniversary!”  
Four years since we confessed our love and changed our lives for the better. Four years since I’d learned that Jay was alive. This day was very special for the both of us.  
“Four years today...”  
I softly said, and he leaned in close and kissed my lips.   
“Four years, doll.”  
The heat rose to my ears. I’d never get tired of him calling me that. It was my favourite nickname - so much better than ‘Old sport’, in my opinion. 

He straightened my tie and I pecked his cheek once more before picking up my jacket and briefcase.  
“Alright, I’ll be back in time. Don’t burn the house down!”  
I chuckled, and left, climbing into the taxi that arrived at our place every day, sent by my work. 

~

I spent the entire day wondering what Gatsby had planned. My present to him was in my briefcase (since he always found his birthday present every year without fail, I thought it would be best to keep this one with me) and I made sure it was nice and secure. The amount of time I’d spent on this was phenomenal, and there was no way I was going to allow it to be ruined. 

I could hardly contain my excitement on my way home. The night was young and the sky was a beautiful shade of orange. The evenings were getting colder as autumn set in, and I wistfully wished it would be summer again. Those hot nights made it perfect for a barbecue outside. Although, I thought to myself, it was rather warm tonight, strange for Autumn.   
‘Actually...it’s probably just me. I’m too excited.’  
I thought to myself as we pulled up to the house. I payed the driver and walked inside.   
“Babe? I’m back.”   
“Upstairs, doll!”  
He called, from our bedroom apparently. I left my shoes and coat at the door and walked up the stairs, a smile brimming on my lips as I wondered what he was doing. 

“Thought you’d be making dinner-“  
I began, but stopped short as I walked in. The room was empty, but there was a soft glow coming from the balcony. I walked out onto it and felt a gasp catch in my throat. Candles lined the railings of the balcony and around the chequered picnic blanket on the floor where Gatsby sat. Wine, glasses and a small wicker basket sat next to him.   
“Hey, doll.”  
He chuckled softly at my shocked face and reached up to take my hand.   
“Come sit down.”

I walked over and sat next to him, being very careful not to disturb any of the candles.   
“Jay, this is beautiful...”  
I could already feel the tears in my eyes. I didn’t know what I did to deserve such an amazing person by my side, someone who would do such beautiful things for me.   
“And you didn’t even burn the house down...”  
“Probably because I didn’t use the oven.”  
He opened the basked so I could see a selection of cheeses and soft rolls. I laughed and we both took some out to begin to eat. 

We didn’t talk about much. I ranted to him about my day, and my disrespectful co-workers, the amount of workload I’d been given. He let me talk, listening intently, gasping at the right parts. It was a perfect evening already, and I couldn’t have asked for more. 

When we finished the food, I moved the basket to the side and opened my briefcase.   
“Are you ready for your present?”  
“You got me a present?!”  
“Of course I did, you dummy! How could I not?”  
I chuckled as I pulled a rectangle shaped present from my briefcase and handed it to him. It was like watching a five year old on Christmas ecstatically ripping open a gift.

Inside the paper was a beryl blue book, perfectly cut, with the words ‘The Great Gatsby’ written in swirling golden letters.   
“My name...?”  
He asked softly, stroking the spine. I scratched the back of my neck awkwardly.  
“I hope it’s alright. It’s your- well, our- autobiography, if you like. The story of Gatsby, and the summer of 1922. I mean, it started out as a coping mechanism - see, my therapist suggested it to me...and I know it’s stupid, but-“  
He cut me off with a passionate kiss.  
“I don’t think it’s stupid at all. Anything written by you is amazing. I can’t wait to read it.”  
I smiled happily to myself, my heart rocketing. 

Originally, it had been a journal given to me by my therapist. Something to write my thoughts down into, to possibly distract myself from the nightmares I was having. Unfortunately, being a flamboyant writer myself, I ended up describing my woes in the form of a story - and eventually realised that I could make a book out of it. My first proper book, as a writer. I doubt many people would consider buying it, but it seemed a suitable gift at the time. 

“You ready for my gift, doll?”  
Gatsby asked, placing the book to the side as gently as possible, as if it were the most precious thing on Earth.   
“Of course.”  
I smiled happily, and took Jay’s hand as it was held out to me. He stood, pulled me up with him, and took us both to the end of the balcony. I wondered what was going on. 

Jay seemed to take a deep breath, and looked down into my eyes - iris’s as blue as the crystal sea gazed into mine. The eyes of the Summer King.   
“Nick...”  
He began, and I realised this must be something important if he was calling me by name instead of my nickname.   
“Four years ago today I told you that I loved you, and those few words were the beginning of the best years of my life. I’ve never been happier in my life - not even the day I met your cousin.”  
Jay and I refused to call the Buchanan’s by name, so we simply called them ‘cousin’ instead.  
“I love you so much, Nick. To the point where I want to scream it to the whole world. I’d buy you the sun, the moon...the whole solar system. I’d endure earthquakes and volcanoes and tsunamis for you. I’d even die for you, Nick. I’d die a thousand times if it meant you got to live.”

Gatsby took another breath, steadying his thoughts. And then all of a sudden, he dropped down onto one knee. The world around me froze as a million thoughts went screeching through my head at the speed of light. My eyes widened as he drew a small, red box from out of his pocket.   
“Nick...I know people like us can’t marry. If people even knew we were dating, we’d go to prison for life. But...I want people to know that you’re a taken man. My man.”

He opened a box to reveal a silver band, with an inscription on it that I couldn’t read quite yet. I didn’t care though.   
“Nick Carraway...will you be my husband?”  
He asked, with a hopeful look in his eyes. My knees practically collapsed in enjoyment and I knelt down with him on the floor.   
“Jay Gatsby, I will be your husband.”  
I exclaimed, and we kissed passionately together, the sun casting pink beams of joy down on the both of us. As we kissed, I felt a cool presence being slipped onto my left ring finger. 

It was right before bed when I saw what the Summer King had inscribed on my ring. And those four words made the nightmares end forever. 

‘...For my Autumn Prince...’


End file.
